


Aflame

by Star_Euphemia



Series: Fire & Ice [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Character Death, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Sorry, M/M, Urban Magic Yogs, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_Euphemia/pseuds/Star_Euphemia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this instead of sleeping and now I'm sad.. Oh well! This is just sorta what came out of my mind and I don't like it.. I get a little evil and kill people when I'm tired I guess.. Sorry!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Aflame

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this instead of sleeping and now I'm sad.. Oh well! This is just sorta what came out of my mind and I don't like it.. I get a little evil and kill people when I'm tired I guess.. Sorry!

He always had a weird fascination with fire. The way it flickered and wavered in his presence. It reminded him of a free soul. His soul. So it was no surprise he stood and watched his fiery creation. Although he'd have to leave soon, it wasn't smart to stand at the scene of a crime. His crime.

But the hands of the flames enticed him in, calling him closer like a sailor to a siren's song. Expression awe, the face of the fire smiled wickedly at the smaller man, it's creator. It seemed as though it had turned on him and that's when realisation hit him. Run. He turned his back on his child, running away from the destructive mess. The wooden planks that acted as a floor complained under the man's weight as the fire engulfed the parts before his steps.

It lapped at his ankles, begging, pleading for him to turn back, to feed him more than just some old church. To sacrifice himself instead.

The walls began to tumble down, crumbles replacing the once beautiful hall. The one where many candles used to lay at the front, marking memories of people. The one where rows of benches used to sit, where choirs used to sing in Grace, but we're probably now in their graves or in boxes upon fireplaces.

It was ironic. Ironic that a place that once burned your loved ones into ashes was having a taste of its own medicine.

Soon, rubble, dirt and dust would stand in its place, symbolizing the presence of a once cheerful or morbid building now in ruins and wrecks. But for now, the man had to run.

His breathing became laboured, staggering. So were his movements. His legs shakey with both adrenaline and fear. Fear of what was to come next.

Supports collapsed before him, pulling him to a halt. The murderous blaze behind him was a hot presence, so close.

What would he do now?

He felt his hair singe as the flames came closer.

There was nothing to do.

Would this be it? Would it end like this? By his own doing? Trapped by his flames, the flames that seemed to be out of his control.

He backed up to the broken debris parts from the fires doing, trying to stall this moment for as long as he could.

Sizzles and cracks evaded his ears, beside the sound of blood pounding through his veins. For the few seconds there were, he thought.

Thought about Trott. Ross. Sips. The Garbage Court. Everything.

How he wished he wouldn't be so careless.

How he wished he could save himself.

Oh, how he wished. But not all wishes can come true.

The faint sounds of sirens echoed in the distance, but it was too late. He was most definitely gone, never to be around again.

He closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

 

This was it, he told himself.

 

This was indeed the end.

 

But he had one last thought before the after life came and tugged at him, leaving his real body aflame;

_'I love you,'_

 

**"Smith?!"**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thinking of possible, messed up prequels/sequels to this so let me know if you would like to see them, I'd love it! I will try.


End file.
